Page 40 of Shatter

"Ser at home tonight with my favorite niece?"

"They're all your favorite nieces," he quips back quickly. "But yes. She didn't feel like coming out tonight."

"Niece?" I ask, wondering if they're related.

"Declan and Serenity have a four-year-old daughter called Cammy. Nell and Daniel have a six-year-old daughter, Danny, and now a one-year-old daughter named June. I call them my nieces because we're all like family, even if not by blood," Cass explains, and my chest warms.

God, that sounds nice.

Suddenly, loud family get-togethers invade my brain. Babies. Toddlers. A little girl who looks like me. A little boy who looks like Harrison.

Okay... maybe that's enough wine for me. I've been with the man for all of twenty-four hours, and we haven't even talked about us yet. I have no business imagining Harrison-sized babies.

Declan excuses himself to do some work, while Cass and the crew around her continue to set up. Finally, once the wine has given me a pleasant buzz, I stand, clapping my hands to get her attention.

"Alright! Enough drinking, put me to work," I demand.

She nods her head, inviting me behind the bar. "Cut up these limes and place them in these containers. Then, when you're done with that, there's a shipment of mint in the kitchen that needs to come behind the bar."

I nod, eager to be useful.

When she places the cutting board and knife in front of me, though, I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never cut a lime before in my life. We always had staff for that.

Sensing my hesitation, Cassidy bumps her hip into mine, taking my place at the cutting board.

"Place the tip of your knife on the board and then like this, making sure your fingers are well out of the way. Then turn them like this and slice again. That's it." I watch her every move to make sure I don't somehow miss anything important. Learning a new skill is way out of my comfort zone, and feels like a test. Can the spoiled rich actress learn how to be a normal human being and do normal human-being things like cutting fruit?

I'm tentative at first, but Cassidy watches me to make sure I do it right.

The amount of pride I feel when I have four equal lime wedges in front of me should be embarrassing. It's literally so stupid. But I feel it anyway.

Cassidy slaps a hand on my shoulder. "You got it from here, chef." And that pride doubles.

I fall into a rhythm, challenging myself to make each cut better than the one before.

A tall Filipino man with a blue streak in his black hair bustles around me in the small bar galley.

"Mind doing the oranges next? I'm late clocking in," he says, and I can't help but smile. He doesn't recognize me. Or if he does, he's not making a big deal of it. He's treating me like just another bartender. I find the freedom in that ridiculously appealing. Maybe I can ask Harry to hire me on full time? I'm going to ask him when we're done tonight.

So, I grab the bag of oranges and start to slice them in quarters.

"No, not like that," the new bartender says, taking the knife from me. I'm immediately mortified. But he's quick to show me the oranges go in slices, not quarters, and shoves the knife back into my hand.

I'm embarrassed at making such a stupid mistake, but that's what new jobs are like, right? Making mistakes and learning?

I slice the oranges and get the mint like Cass asked, but suddenly I'm alone, with nothing else to do.

I decide to see what Harrison's doing, so I wander down the hallway I know leads to his office.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch him silently. He's got his glasses on, and my lips twitch with the effort to smother my smile. He's got such daddy-vibes, and I'm sure he doesn't even know it.

His fingers click-clack on the keyboard as he frowns in concentration. I've never wondered before what he does for The Envelope.

"Do you need something? Or are you just admiring the view?" he says, without looking up from his monitor.

I smile, but take that as my invitation to bug him.

I step inside and decide to be brave. I walk over to him, grip the shoulder of his desk chair and turn it so he's facing me, before tucking my legs between his and sitting on his lap, draping my arm over his shoulders.